


if you can resist it

by brazyjit



Series: got a nerve [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Developing Relationship, Johnny's POV, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Stripper Ten, Ten is a Fat tease, business dwellings, johnny is a headass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazyjit/pseuds/brazyjit
Summary: Johnny- of whom considers himself a man of typical boundaries and self control, falls for a stripper, who incidentally enjoys living as a chronic tease and generally adding to the overall harm of Johnny's own well being.(Where Johnny thinks he's too much of a disciplinarian to give in to how he feels. Until he does.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Frank Ocean's [Channel Orange](https://open.spotify.com/album/392p3shh2jkxUxY2VHvlH8) looped on shuffle all while writing this and I recommend you do too,, but maybe not on shuffle cos that might be why this is 98% crackheadery,, or don't .... 
> 
> I plan to write more of a backstory later, just not anytime soon;; maybe when I get the chance to get zooted I'll churn something out ;-)))

Johnny usually isn’t this prone to allowing himself to have his time eaten up by something as petty as this.

 

Despite the nagging in his head telling him to get _away_ , he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the flashing neon sign in front of him, seemingly beckoning him closer to come inside, among other things.

 

It was just his luck to get caught up with a stripper, especially at this point in his career.

 

He keeps standing stupidly, hands jammed in his pockets as he waits. For what exactly, he can’t place. His fingers find their way to his forehead, rubbing almost painfully in hopes of clearing his colliding thoughts.

 

Before Johnny can bring himself to his final verdict, one that incidentally doesn’t involve getting his dick wet, he hears a voice chime his name from his left.

 

He turns towards the sound, already placing its origin out of instinct.

 

It’s Ten, and he’s glowing.

 

Time seems to slow as he approaches Johnny. There’s a sheen of sweat that illuminates his cheekbones and nose, set with his shirt buttons mismatched, teeth shining brightly above in the spread of his smile.

 

Once he gets close enough for Johnny to touch him, he remembers the debit card Ten left at his place from his jacket pocket; an actual reason as to why he was standing outside a strip club at six in the morning. Disregarding any original self control he thought he might’ve had, Johnny decides it’s best for him to stick it in the elastic of his shorts than anywhere else, hooking his fingers in the material to pull their chests flush against each other.

 

Ten grins, looking up at him squarely, and Johnny finds it cute how his upper lip flattens when his mouth splits into a smile, in spite of the dark undertone beneath his features.

 

A mumbled “You forgot this,” is all he can muster.

 

“I was wondering where I’d left this,” he plucks the card from his fingers as he flashes another smile up at him, further weakening anything that might’ve been left of Johnny’s resolve. “Should’ve thought it’d be with you.” The lilt Ten’s voice adopts does nothing to aid his deteriorating restraint.

 

He surprises himself when he turns towards the near empty lot, actually choosing to think with his head for once. “I came here to pick you up so I can drop you off at your place too,” he scratches the back of his neck with his now empty hand. “I thought I’d do you a favor for once.”

 

Noticing the coy look overtaking Ten’s face, he decides to take on a more fitting role to stave off any initial misguided ideas. “Just because I thought you’d need it. You could use a nap, if anything.” He hopes this is enough of a prospect that Ten will actually _listen_ for once.

 

“Don’t worry about me, John.” He turns Johnny’s head back towards him with a finger on his chin. “Stamina’s part of my job, remember?” He punctuates this with a wink. His thoughts drift momentarily, when he jolts back to his original intentions. Johnny should’ve known better than to tread this way.

 

“And besides, you don’t want to keep _that_ all day at work now, do you?” Ten motions towards Johnny’s crotch, his dick situated uncomfortably in his slacks. The discomfort there grows, much to his dismay. He really should have jacked off before coming here. “That can’t be comfortable,” he adds sweetly.

 

Johnny smartly chooses to ignore this, hoping his streak of good decisions continues as the day goes on.

 

It doesn’t.

 

Ten decides it’d be a good idea to suck him off when he’s driving in the middle of the road, practically pouncing on him as soon as Johnny reached a red light. He had justified this with a sly remark of “you looked stressed”, to which he responds that it was because it'd be a little hard to not stress over crashing the car with his mouth on his dick. At the very least, it was as clean a blowjob could be, devoid of any stains on his _faux_ _leather seats_ , and would mean no more blue balls, which was always a plus.

 

Then as Johnny is interviewing one of the potential recruits, he accidentally mentions the bit about the marketed salary as soon as the interview is coming to a close. And because the jobs were running high, was most likely to be at least half a decade before his first promotion.

 

He doesn’t spew this all of course, but the realization kicked in regardless of what he had said to the client, who had graciously given a respectable handshake to finish but still near sprinted out the building as soon as they had finished.

 

Johnny starts to question as to why he chose a job in the corporate world.

 

His boss then gave him an intern to shadow his presentation on the intriguing workings of fiscal engineering to, quite frankly, the biggest investors that their company has had in a while, during which Johnny’s phone conveniently goes off, not once, twice, thrice, but four times. There’s even a ringing that follows minutes after indicative of a god fucking _video chat_ , and Johnny can’t imagine what has to be running through the sender’s head to think calling after four failed texts would be a good idea.

 

He apologizes profusely to the investors, of whom look relatively unbothered, but Johnny knows well that in business it was a necessary skill to be able to talk through your teeth, and probably were reconsidering their entire deal to be a mistake. With a train wreck like him fumbling to shut up his phone, he can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t retract their entire 50 thousand shares if they were presented with this. Why of all fucking days, today he forgets to silence his phone?

 

When he opens his phone with the sole intent of switching his cell to do not disturb, he damn near has a stroke at what the screen has to show for him.

 

It’s two unholy images attached, along with texts that Johnny would rather donate his annual salary to the church of Scientology to than read in front of the high-end prospects (or anyone for that matter), of which are still regarding him with the same indifferent expressions on their faces.

 

Unfortunately, the little messages had left him with yet _another_ growing problem. He prays to whatever god out there that the guests were too busy thinking of the mind-numbing statistics to notice the sudden stutters in Johnny’s voice about their current range of profits as he tried to pick up from his last remarks.

 

What was he getting out of this arrangement, again?

 

He glances back down at the thumbnails to the barely-there, and rather, artful, shots of Ten’s ass. Turns out he wouldn’t have to struggle to answer that question.

 

Choosing to leave the notifications be as he switches it to silent and slips it back in his pocket, he finishes the rest of the presentation with relative ease, thankfully due to the halt of any other unwanted interruptions. Even got a round of applause for fuck’s sake, and he’s left with some ounce of confidence that he secured the deal.

 

The rest of the day drags by him, Johnny finishing his analyzing of his leftover data for the day, and even having an hour before six to spare.

 

He reckons it’s time for him to leave and starts to pick up his jacket folded on the edge of his chair, switching off do not disturb as he does so to check for any additional emails or notifications.

 

Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have to look very far.

 

A flurry of notifications pops up with one after another, the incessant ringing enough to make him regret powering his phone back on. Once it finally stops, he reads a total of 15 notifications on the screen. Six of them are from Ten. Half of those are image or, Jesus Christ, video files, not including the ones he had sent earlier. What happened to that nap Johnny had been insisting on?

 

He sits back down, interest piqued despite himself. Looking around his cubicle, for any lingering employees, he swivels his chair so his back is to the wall furthest from the opening.

 

God, he’s such a fucking creep.

 

Johnny decides it’s best to just scroll through the little thumbnails and text situated in the notifications than to open it fully, at least not now. He spots a few more shots of his ass- is that a jockey strap? and a mildly concerning video thumbnail with a kitchen knife.

 

He shakes his head as he picks up his belongings to leave. Probably best to continue this from the comfort of his apartment. The last lights switch off just as Johnny heads out the door.

\--

The drive home is hell. The same shitfaced driver attempts to pass him twice, and his headlights stop working halfway through. He decides this isn’t the worst thing to happen to him, remnants of his earlier trip ups still fresh in mind. His car at least manages to function up to when he reaches his apartment.

 

Once he finally gets to his room, the first thing he does is check the fridge. Fuck’s sake, last time he’d eaten was what, yesterday night? It barely could be called a meal either, the sad excuse of half a leftover dish of takeout. He didn’t even bother to microwave it, eating it cold because at least it was _something_. This can’t be good for him.

 

Johnny rummages around mindlessly in his cupboards, as if he hadn’t already scoured his pantry two days before to be met with nothing but dust bunnies and untouched plates.

 

Sighing at the disappointing, but predictable, lack of food, he decides to open his messages back up. This was why he drove home in the first place, right? To jerk off in the comfort of his own home.

 

He finally, _finally_ , pulls up the images on his phone. His eyes hadn’t deceived him, Ten really had donned a jockey strap in the photos. The last one that he had sent was of him in it, ass in the mirror with his fingers lingering at the edge of the elastic. Johnny swipes to the next set of photos, deciding it’s the safest option before he even touches whatever the hell the video had in store.

 

The ones Ten had sent in the meeting do significantly more damage to his frail libido.

 

They’re of Ten with his ass in the air, fingers shoved in his mouth, and spit shimmering on his lips. The text following it appropriately reads _miss me yet_ with a winky face emoji.

 

Johnny decides it’s best to move on from that. Maybe add it to his fap stash for later.

 

He moves onto the video, which innocently turns out to be a sort of a mini-vlog, just twenty seconds of Ten attempting to bake some weed brownies. At one point he gets batter on his cheek, which softens Johnny considerably. The giggle that followed makes his heart swell even more, and the clip ends with Ten looking back into the camera mid-laugh.

 

Well, now he’s too guilty to get off to a face as angelic as that, isn’t he?

 

Unfortunately, the answer to that is no.

 

An idea pops up in his head, and his eyes wander towards the call button. It’s seven, and he knows Ten’s shift doesn’t start till half past nine.

 

He hovers over the cell phone icon, weighing the pros and cons of half-asleep, half-starved phone sex because he’s a fucking _business major_.

 

Johnny would like to say his thumb slipped, but the shame that came with that had him admit otherwise.

 

His phone dials once, twice, three times before it stops. He expects to hear a click and a dial tone asking to leave a voicemail, but he doesn’t.

 

Instead, Ten answers.

 

And he thinks for a moment that _holy shit, he really did fool himself into thinking he could pull this off_ , when the voice says “Johnny?” that he remembers that in fact, his thumb did not slip.

 

He swallows. This shouldn’t be _this_ hard for him.

 

“Yeah, Ten?” He winces as his voice cracks. “You’re not busy right now, are you?”

 

He can _hear_ the smirk in Ten’s voice as he responds with a knowing “You got my messages? What’d you think?”

 

Johnny considers this, and the immense stress it caused him during that specific time of day.

 

He forms his response.

 

“Yeah, and at one of the worst possible times. What the hell was that?”

 

He hears a laugh on the other end, and Johnny shakes his head incredulously. “What, you didn’t like little the surprise I gave you?”

 

He’d hardly call it little, but Johnny bites this back with a shred of self-discipline.

 

“ _No_ , Ten, not when there’s an intern and private investors watching my every move,” he rubs his eyes as the memory flashes back, trying to rid of the reminiscence.

 

“No? I thought you might be into that,” and Johnny can picture the coy look overtaking his face.

 

“So why did you call me?” Ten says, pulling Johnny to make his rationale. In short, he had really just wanted to get a nut in, maybe ask Ten how his day was after and offer for an early coffee run in the morning.

 

But no, it wasn’t just a push of his stupidly high libido. He thinks maybe it’s the spark in Ten’s eyes right before he lowers himself onto his lap, or the way his shoulders shrug when he steals Johnny’s shirts, which are always two sizes too big for him. Like how he laughs at Johnny’s lame jokes even when he tells him not to, the sound reverberating like a melody in his head.

 

He’s fucked.

 

He sighs, regrettably indicative of how he’s going to give in just like that. At least he’s gonna get what he came for. “You really want to know why I decided to call?” He says, and it’s final.

 

“You know how much of a fucking tease you are, don’t you? Needed me that bad?”

 

The thought of whether Ten even _wants_ this starts to form, and he thinks that maybe that he’s gonna switch around and end up getting hung up on.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

“Yeah? If I’d known how easy it was to get your attention, I would’ve done that way earlier on,” there’s a pause and the sound of fabric. “Tell me more." He hums. "What you’d do if you were here.” 

 

“Would tell you to fuck your mouth with your fingers. Get them wet enough to fuck yourself open with.”

 

Johnny hears a hitching breath on the other line. He didn’t think it would be this simple to get him like this, just one tug to get him to unfurl, and thinks that maybe he did know what he was doing.

 

“You like a show? I can do that for you now.”

 

“Maybe when you come over,” Johnny digs his fingers into the armrest. “Just stay on voice call for now.”

 

“Fine.” Ten huffs. “Don’t call back later telling me you regretted it.”

 

Johnny grins. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

 

“I will.”

 

A beat of silence passes, and Johnny wills himself to stay present. “Are you touching yourself right now? I’d hate to have you cum so soon,” he says, nursing his growing confidence. Was it his starved self that was speaking for him?

 

He assumes so, because there’s a low laugh on the end.

 

“And if I am? What are you gonna do about it?”

 

The teasing glint of Ten’s eyes circles back in his mind, dark and wanting.

 

It drives him crazy.

 

“Anything else you’re hiding? I didn’t think you’d actually bring out a jockey strap for that.” Really he was just mentioning that to get himself going. Stressed ego and all.

 

“Oh?” Ten pauses, hesitating at the syllable. “Did you like it?” Johnny wants to think there’s something more than a question in this, seeking more than satisfaction in an answer.

 

He swallows down his response in turn of an alternate reply. “Guess you want me to have to fuck you in that, huh? All ruined and pretty like that, just for me.”

 

“Didn’t know you’d take so quickly to that,” Ten sighs, voice muted. “Keep talking.”

 

Johnny clicks his tongue. “Gotta be patient for some things,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “You gonna finger yourself now?” He says this as a joke, considering that there’s probably a policy about _no fingering yourself before shows_ or something along the lines of that, when he hears his response.

 

“Right now?” His phone picks up on some shuffling, then the startling sound of a bottle being uncapped.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re starting already.”

 

“So what if I am?” There it is again. The infuriatingly tempting lilt in his voice, beckoning for more. It’s as if neither of them ever want to catch a break.

 

The groan on the other end is telltale of what he’s working himself up to. He wonders if he can cum just from this.

 

“Yeah”, he breathes out, and Johnny comes to the realization he’s said that into the phone. “Want you here, _now_.” His voice pitches up at the last syllable, and he brings his attention to his own dick, wrapping a hand around the base.

 

“Bet you’re so filthy, fucking yourself open like that.”

 

“‘S not enough. Want you here, inside me now,” he repeats with a whine. A low groan gets caught in his throat as he moves to stroke himself.

 

“What’d I just say about being patient?” He laughs despite himself, picturing the endearingly impatient look plastered on Ten’s face.

 

“I’m getting there, can’t you stand to wait?” Another hitch in breath, quick pants following soon after. “I- I’m getting close,” Ten musters, and Johnny’s own release builds up in the pit of his stomach, furling tighter against itself.

 

“You fucking yourself good? Tell me how.”

 

“Just two fingers inside of me. Wish it were you, fucking me hard instead.” A filthy whine follows, accompanied by labored breathing on the line. Johnny swallows the groan that threatens to rip from his throat.

 

“You take me so well, baby. Like you were made to take my cock with your pretty ass.”

 

Ten doesn’t justify this with words, but Johnny doesn’t miss Ten’s quiet “oh”.

 

“Keep touching yourself. I want to hear you cum.”

 

His pace around his dick quickens, along with the volume of the noises coming from Ten, pitching higher and higher as he nears the climax of his orgasm.

 

“I’m gonna-” this is cut off by a loud, drawn out moan.

 

Johnny’s own release draws closer, his hand chasing his release as his pace quickens to match the knot in his gut, coiling tighter, tighter.

 

He cums with a groan, white painting his fist as he strokes himself to finish.

 

There’s a drag of quiet, pacifying the rushed events that had preceded it.

 

“Good enough?” Ten’s says, and Johnny wishes he could be there to see his face. The face he takes on after sex is one he readily remembers, the blissed out expression matched with an affectionate pout.

 

“Yeah.” He’s unsure of what to say next, still stupidly mute from his high. “You gotta leave now?”  

 

“Yeah-” a muffled rustle, “Johnny?” His voice remains as clear as ever, but he thinks he hears a waver to it that hadn’t made itself known before.

 

“Hm?” He grabs a few spare tissues, the one thing that he did have in good supply in his place, before adding a “what is it?” for good measure.

 

“We should do this again,” Ten responds with a giggle. The image of Ten’s shining smile comes back, and for a moment he’s unsure of what to say back.

 

“Liked not seeing my face that much, huh?” Ever the jester.

 

Another giggle follows, stirring something in Johnny’s gut once again.

 

“I want you to take me out.”

 

It’s simple, but the warmth in his voice causes something in Johnny to swell.

 

Johnny almost nods, before remembering he’s on the phone.

 

“I can do that.” He wonders what Ten even expects of him; what he’d treat Ten to that wouldn’t drive him to run from him. “Tomorrow morning I’ll come around to pick you up.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’ll text you.” He moves to wipe his hand on a tissue, before moving back to his phone.

 

“You better.”

 

“When am I ever late for a cute date?” And it’s said before Johnny even realizes it, that they’re this is something other than just fucking.

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Johnny laughs. It’s just like Ten, defiant as ever, to act rashly just for the sake of spite.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Ten.”

 

“Don’t forget.” This would sound like a threat, but the spread of the vowels hints at his lilting smile.

 

“I won’t.”

 

The line clicks off, and Johnny’s left to mull over if he should take Ten out for tea or coffee the next morning because now that fucking _matters_.


	2. Chapter 2

Johnny holds true to his promise the next morning, arriving a whole half hour early just to keep up his end of their bargain. He justifies this with the lack of traffic on a Saturday which made his commute that much quicker rather than any additional sentiments he might have been harboring.

 

It’s all too familiar, the wait almost routine now as he fiddles with his phone, scuffing his feet as he waits. He scrolls through his notifications, the mundane action keeping his mind from straying too far from where it was supposed to be. But his mind unfortunately does not keep its assumed course. 

 

There’s a minute where Johnny thinks he imagined the whole spiel that occurred last night, and gets up from the bench as if to leave. He thinks he’s going to walk back to his car, but to his dismay, his legs carry him to the entrance of the club, as if to confirm for himself. His hands act ahead of his mind, already handing his ID to the bouncer before he can even process what he’s doing, who waves him past once he glances it over. 

 

Once Johnny steps in, he’s hit with the heavy smell of perfume, and his eyes adjust to the dark lighting of the club. The atmosphere is quietly inviting, harboring a lethargic vibe, rather than the brooding image so often played out. A few lingering dancers continue to perform on the elevated platforms, their onlookers tipping to reciprocate. He notices some apparent newcomers holding back as well, watching timidly from the sidebar. 

 

Johnny continues his view of the room, turning his attention toward the private rooms, which don’t appear to be as active in movement, but most would know better than to just assume. There’s someone stumbling out the door of one of the rooms, a dazed expression on his face, belt barely fastened and hair violently stood upright. Johnny stifles a laugh as he’s reminded of his own days of college experimentation, the constant spikes of his (stupidly high) libido and how much he fucked around (at one point involving a dual tentacle dildo and two very eager participants) before finding his own preferences, of which unfortunately did not involve any use of hentai plotlines (potentially another time, if he’d had lost enough of his sobriety). 

 

He finds a place to sit at the bar, opting for observation to partaking at this hour as his eyes sweep over the room, surveying the hushed activity of the club. 

 

Johnny focuses on a dancer dressed in a loose black top over boyshorts and a garter belt, his back pressed against the pole, swaying melodically as patrons watch on and slip bills in his waistband on occasion. Pieces of discarded clothing surround his feet, mapping out the space. His leg is wrapped elegantly around a pole, beginning to slink downwards with a tempting arch of his spine. The dancer catches his eye, and Johnny starts at seeing Ten’s familiar gaze.

 

The glint in his eyes sparks up when he meets Johnny’s gaze, lids lowering in a heavy stare, just before he lifts from the platform in a graceful spin, his feet skimming the floor beneath him as he completes the maneuver. He watches as Ten’s hips swivel back up the pole to the slow rhythm of the song, eyes not leaving Johnny’s once as he completes the winding routine. 

 

Johnny’s left to swallow on a dry throat as the song finishes, leaving him to watch as he exits the stage. Ten glances back over his shoulder, flashing a smirk behind him before he slips behind the curtain. 

 

Right as he disappears from sight, Johnny snaps out of his stupor, head swimming with the thoughts of Ten and his captivating routine; Ten gliding over the baritone of the music, all tantalizing curves and hazy silhouettes. Given how long they’ve been sleeping together, this morning was strangely enough the first occurrence of Johnny seeing Ten dance at his club. And maybe it was better that way, remembering how easily he used to get suffocatingly overbearing, just starting to phase out of the possessiveness when he had first met Ten. 

 

It’s only a little while till Ten emerges from the corner, changed into jeans and a grey crewneck sweater that looks suspiciously like the one Johnny had been missing from his closet for the past week. 

 

This image of Ten differs drastically from the one he just saw on stage, harboring gentle lines and rosy skin, swathed in soft fabric. He leans in close enough to Johnny to whisper to meet him at the parking lot, lips brushing his ear as he speaks. Johnny gets up a couple steps after he sees Ten’s heel disappear around the corner, keeping a safe distance until they reach the club parking lot. 

 

Ten turns around expectantly. “Your car?” he says, and Johnny finally remembers what he’s here for as he catches up to Ten. 

 

“So you saw me dance today.” Ten looks up at Johnny through his eyelashes, lids still smudged with traces of eyeliner from his prior performances, and Johnny’s wholly unprepared for the fondness he feels blooming in his gut, entirely unwelcome in spite of its warmth. “Sad you weren’t there for the whole routine. You probably wouldnt’ve made it halfway through, knowing you.” 

 

Johnny feigns hurt. “That little faith? I thought you were the one who was so eager to fuck you just _had_ to sext me at work,” he reminds Ten, recalling the night prior. 

 

“It was _impatience_ ,” Ten retorts. His stubborn demeanor had returned, but in Johnny’s early morning daze he finds it endearing nonetheless. “Your words. There’s a difference between that and not being able to hold a nut in.”

 

“But I did, didn’t I? After that stunt you pulled when I was at work, you’re lucky I’m still picking you up. Half an hour early too, if we’re counting.” 

 

“Your choice.” Ten bites back, but the playfulness is evident in his dancing tone. They’ve reached Johnny’s car, and Ten turns to him intently. “So what are you having us do? Not gonna smoke a joint and fuck over some Avengers movie, are we?” 

 

Johnny snorts. “I lost track of those after the what- third? Installment of Thor,” he says as Ten flicks his arm passively. “And if it’s any reassurance to you, I need to stay sober anyways in case I need to respond to any emails.”

  
  
Ten clicks his tongue, disapproving. “So we can’t drink either, then? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna drag me to go drawer shopping or some shit like that.” 

 

Johnny grins. “Oh, so now you’re backing out of the whole date you wanted? What if I was?”

 

“I never called it a date,” he huffs, but the curl of his lips say otherwise. “You’re just putting words in my mouth.”

 

“You can’t tell me that’s not what you meant by asking me to take you out.” 

 

“I could’ve just meant for you to pick me up from here to buy me food so I wouldn’t have to.” Ten replies easily, jutting out his lower lip in a pout, and Johnny resists the urge to bring his hand up to his mouth and run his thumb across it, the gloss shining tantalizingly.  

 

“I can’t imagine that’s what you actually meant.” Johnny steals another glance at Ten. He’s now looking off at the hills that lie in the distance, wisps of vapor coiling from his mouth as he exhales. Ten is beautiful, and Johnny struggles not to stare. 

 

Ten turns back to give Johnny a disapproving look. “Then you don’t know me very well.” The familiar gleam in Ten’s eyes returns, insistent on pushing Johnny, to get his resolve close enough to break. It’s meant to distract, aiming to where Ten knows Johnny will stutter first. 

 

Truth be told, he only remembers so much. Ten likes it when he fucks him from behind and holds onto his hips hard enough to bruise, likes to tease and play and act coy just for the sake of driving Johnny to the edge. But outside of sex, Johnny’s clueless of anything else about Ten. So he decides to say as such. 

 

“Hm, I don’t.” Johnny dares pull Ten’s hand towards him, the cold of his hand causing Johnny’s to wrap closer around Ten’s own. Ten’s pinkie latches itself onto his index finger, tugging at it playfully. Johnny wants to cave. “What should I know, then?” 

 

Ten scoffs. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that.” His pinkie moves up into the crook between Johnny’s thumb and his finger, the cold creeping further into his hand. 

 

“That won’t be difficult.” Johnny brings his free thumb up to Ten’s cheeks, pushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I’m willing to work for it as long as it’s for you, princess.” 

 

Ten scowls, but Johnny catches the blush tinging Ten’s cheeks pink. 

 

They reach Johnny’s car, Johnny unlocking it before opening the door to the passenger seat for Ten. It’d been ages since he’d last taken anyone out, but it seemed the muscle memory had held up in his mind. Miraculously. 

 

“Sap.” Ten rolls his eyes, but accepts the gesture regardless.

 

This time Ten doesn’t lean over the passenger’s seat with insistent fingers pushing at the close of his pants, but sits curled on the seat, stare fixed on Johnny. Ten’s gaze is heavy on him, persistently distracting, and Johnny grips the wheel, as if it’ll distract from the beautiful diversion sitting next to him. “Take me somewhere out of town. I’m sick of seeing the same shit.” 

 

So Johnny does, pulling out of the lot just as he sees Ten passing out, head slumped on his shoulder, breaths soft against the neck of his sweater. He tries and fails to think of anything else for the remainder of the ride. 

 

\--

 

Johnny picks a secluded spot after about half an hour of mindless driving, barely able to find a spot to park the car without compromising the view. They’ve arrived at a lookout on a grassy green hill, the sun lazily rising above the horizon. Johnny has to shake Ten’s shoulder thrice before he wakes up with a huff, one eye peeking open to look at Johnny before shutting back closed. “Let me sleep.” 

 

He can’t resist the chuckle at the sight of Ten huddled with his knees to his chest, seatbelt halfway on and tousled hair from the nap. 

 

“So you did need that nap then, didn’t you?” 

 

“Don’t try making this about you,” Ten grumbles, tugging the neck of the sweater higher up to fit his nose. The same swell in Johnny’s gut rises again, which he struggles to tamp down when Ten’s nose buries itself into the material of his sweatshirt, starting to doze off already. 

 

He leaves it at that, draping his jacket around Ten’s sleeping form, excusing the action because he’s doing it for the sake of fucking _courtesy_ , and not because Ten glows particularly bright like this, none of the catty defenses up to guard whatever lies underneath his batted lashes and bitingly clever remarks when he sleeps.

 

\--

 

Ten wakes up in time to Johnny’s staring at him, and Johnny has to feign surprise, that he was “just too pretty not to stare at”. Ten seems to accept this with a ducked head and the pull of a smile, just barely beaming back at him through the fabric of his sweater. 

 

Which winds up with Johnny’s mind straying from the circumstances at hand and wanting to slap himself, something, _anything_ to get the thoughts of Ten’s plush lips and soft skin and pushed pout out of his mind, because he’s thoroughly fucked if he doesn’t. 

 

“Johnny,” Ten nudges his arm, eyelids heavy and the look in his eyes does little to disperse the feeling. “Where’d you take me?” 

 

“Not to a shitty motel to kill you, if that’s what you were worried about,” he says, still gazing hard at Ten’s disheveled state. To make matters worse, Ten reaches up to stretch his arms above his head, lifting the hem of his sweatshirt to show smooth, beautifully golden skin that Johnny had only spent so much time knowing. 

 

And God, if he had any less self control, he’d have already had his hands wound in Ten’s hair and around his hips to escalate where they were at- but Johnny knows better than to waste Ten for just a quick fuck. 

 

Regardless, Ten must have noticed Johnny’s stare drifting down to his mouth, or maybe Ten’s just a psychic, that he leans in close to press his lips to Johnny’s ear and murmurs “I know you want me, Johnny,” mouth grazing down to his jaw before pulling back to look up at him. “So take me.”

 

But Johnny’s nothing without his self control, leaning in carefully to watch Ten’s eyes flutter close in compliance, as if to say _yes, I want this too_. His thumb brushes against Ten’s bottom lip, relishing in the way his tongue darts out to lap at the pad of the digit, lids peeking open to catch Johnny’s hungry gaze. 

 

When he presses his mouth to Ten’s, Ten sucks in a breath and parts his lips, winding his arms around his neck and pushing Johnny back against the car door. 

 

“Touch me- _now_ ,” Ten whispers, breathing turning shaky just from fucking _kissing_ , and Johnny thinks he’s too far in his own head to catch the way Ten climbs into the driver’s seat and pins his knees on either side of Johnny, and _Christ_ if he wasn’t just mooning over Ten a second ago-

 

Ten leans back as Johnny kisses him again, sighing contentedly as he runs his tongue along the inseam of Ten’s mouth, tasting the sweet mint of his tongue. He grips Johnny’s shirt with a fervor, hips just barely pushing downwards on his lap. But before he can even get his hands up Ten’s shirt, the car fucking _honks_ from the pressure of Ten’s weight, making him bounce in his lap- at which Johnny has to grit his teeth to not let out a less than composed noise. 

 

“Shit,” Johnny mutters, avoiding Ten’s dark eyes above him, no doubt glaring back at him, irked. He glances at the time, God, _anything_ to dissipate the embarrassment that was currently pissing all over his train of thought. 

 

But Ten fucking _giggles_ , and if it’s anything to go off of, he nuzzles his head into Johnny’s neck. “Save it for when we get back to your place.” 

 

And Johnny can’t help himself. “I thought you said the last thing you wanted to do was have a lazy fuck.” 

 

Ten rolls his eyes, pulling away from Johnny to gaze out the window at the now-risen sun. 

 

“Where are we?” He breathes, and if Johnny didn’t know any better he’d think it was awe clouding his own mind. 

 

“Around the edge of the countryside, I think. I stopped at the first place I could park at,” Johnny mumbles, moving to press his mouth to Ten’s neck. Ten shifts away before he can touch, leaning back to catch a better glimpse of the hills. Johnny’s hands catch under Ten’s shoulders, not wanting another instance of his car’s horn startling them both. 

 

Thankfully he won’t have to, Ten already opening the door to free his lungs from the stuffy air. Simultaneously, Johnny tries to resist reaching his hands out back onto Ten’s hips, which bump against the hood of the car as he makes his way towards the edge of the hill. He wraps Johnny’s jacket closer around himself, the wind starting to pick up and a shiver making its way to run down his spine. 

 

Now seems the perfect time for some much-needed introspection, as the relentless thoughts that Johnny can’t help but come back to, of what would happen if he kissed Ten upon their first time meeting, if he went for the warmth of intimacy rather than the easy simplicity of just wanting a physical sensation; hold something deeper than what just was tactile. 

 

But they were here now though, weren’t they?

 

Here, meaning Johnny with his hands shoved in his pockets as he watches Ten (with a stupid smile on his face, unbeknownst to him), wriggling around to make himself comfortable on the car hood, surrounded by Johnny’s sweater and bathed in the soft sunlight. Ten’s mouth catches open in a yawn, and the act of just watching Ten, devoid of his persona, settles him as content, maybe something more... 

 

Ten ends up falling asleep on the hood of his car too, chin tucked to his chest as the sun illuminates his face impossibly bright, and Johnny decides to play it safe and drive him back to Ten’s apartment. He doesn’t anticipate that when he gets there, though, Ten tugging at his sleeve, pout plastered on his face, rambling something about how _I’ll be lonely_ and that he’ll _get so cold when I’m all by himself_ , which inevitably drags Johnny back into exactly what he didn’t want to get looped back into, with Ten’s hands pulling at his sleeves and staring up at him with the same kitty expression he’d pull whenever he wanted Johnny to do something in bed, leaving him to wallow in his confusion about the whole ordeal, but still content in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. He’d confront the conflicting feelings about Ten and whatever the fuck they were at a later hour, shaking himself out of his thoughts as Ten dozes off for the third time on his shoulder, historical drama playing out ambiently in the background. 

 

Johnny grins as he’s reminded of Ten’s words about avoiding doing exactly this. Another point for him, Johnny supposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sjskdslks this diverged so far from my original idea of this fic haha 
> 
> There's a surprising lack of smut in this chapter,, definitely more fluffy than I intended to make this
> 
> If you're wondering why it's more open ended, I intend to make this part of a larger series if I can churn out enough content for this verse, but I hope it still serves as a somewhat conclusive ending for this portion;;
> 
> Uhhh anyways thank u folks for reading,,,,, I did what I could for Johnten Naysh


End file.
